Staying on My Side of the Street

I've already said, I think, that I have a couple of friends in "the rooms" that I'm worried about. Well, that and ticked off at. Why ticked off? I guess I feel like I'm being a better friend to them than they are to themselves. And I got worn out. I needed to work on my life. So I didn't phone them for a few days because of that. Then I called them both yesterday and then this morning (in a fit of "get over it") and nobody answered. So I'm trying not to make a federal case of it. I am not their entire lives, I have my life to live, and so do they. I have to stop making up stories in my head about what is going on with them, stay on my very cluttered side of the street.

Food wise, the last week and a half has been good. The nibbling monster is being starved of sustinence, and that means I'm safer from any big binges. The last couple of months have not been good that way. I had several months of abstinence from binge eating and then lost it. Then I lost it a couple of months again after that. And then it was a couple of weeks, it was getting shorter and shorter. Scary stuff. I was starting to get very afraid.

Then I had one of those classic Halloween candy blow-ups. Moral of that story: we're now going to give out juice boxes, no candy. It's deadly for me. On the good side, Halloween is now my abstinence date, which makes it easy to remember.

So, while I'm still a healthy weight, my pants are still tighter than I want them to be and I don't want to keep sliding down this slope. I hate writing about this! My perfection monster is all over me, not wanting me to show this very imperfect side. There is something about showing imperfection that kicks up a lot of fear in me. I think that is a very old trait instilled in me by my parents: if I don't talk about it, it doesn't exist. Classic for the child of a closet alcoholic.

So, rather than get all riled up speculating about what is going on with my friends, I can't do more than I've done. And I have to keep my head on this body here, not fly off trying to save them, because if I'm immersed in doing that, my own disease will come up and bite me in the ass as it's done many times before. I know that feeling that comes after living for someone else: that emptiness and that gnawing hunger, and I know it has the possibility of becoming fatal.